


Leftovers

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gavin suffers through sort of getting Connor.
Relationships: Background Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Leftovers

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The only thing worse than being forced to work with a supposedly-sentient toaster is having to work with a wonky toaster that somebody plugged in wrong. And that won’t make toast. Or coffee. Honestly, Gavin would forgive the fact that Connor’s annoying and sluggish and _wrong_ if he’d at least make Gavin coffee.

But when Gavin grunts, “Hey tin-can, go make me a coffee—”

Connor answers, “Cannot compute,” and Gavin can’t tell if he’s making a really dumb joke or if he’s genuinely broken. 

Then he starts leaning like the tower of Pisa and Gavin figures _definitely broken_. Because one of the things he hates most about Connor is that goody-goody, obedient-puppy attitude, manifesting in his perfect posture and bright eyes and eagerness for a job he doesn’t even get paid for. He’s _supposed_ to be sitting straighter than a coat rack and reading files at lightning speed, then relaying all the pertinent details to his superior—finally Gavin. But he keeps glancing over towards Anderson’s empty desk like he’s still reporting to his beloved lieutenant, when Captain Fowler clearly gave him to Gavin this time.

Well, told them to work together on this case, anyway, because Anderson’s on leave with a bad back because he’s old and stupid. Maybe when Fowler first declared that, a _tiny_ piece of Gavin was happy, if only so he could rub his grubby paws all over Anderson’s precious android and then laugh at Anderson’s inevitable fury. The fact that Connor would definitely help his own stats wasn’t a bad prospect either.

Except Connor’s been absolutely _useless_ all day. He hasn’t said one helpful thing. He hasn’t even said any unhelpful things. He’s just been sitting there like a lump of potatoes or Ben during football season. It’s not even fun for Gavin to taunt him anymore, because he doesn’t tease back like he’s supposed to.

He starts leaning past the point of Pisa, nearing full on isosceles triangle, when Gavin finally snaps, “What the _fuck_ , tin-can? Did you short-circuit or were you always this dopey?”

Connor’s chair cricks as he forces himself upright, again perpendicular to Gavin across their adjacent desks. There are no personal items on Connor’s, because it’s not really his desk at all, and the only thing on his actual desk is a post-it-note from Anderson that reads like an insult but seems to make him smile. His expression is completely dead when he looks at Gavin, like somebody turned off the humanity filters.

Maybe that should be a victory for Gavin, because it proves what he’s always said: androids are nothing but mindless machines. Except when it’s _Connor_ blankly staring at him, it’s just sort of... _sad_.

“I apologize,” Connor recites, in even more stilted syntax than usual. “My energy is running low, but I will do my best to be a suitable partner for you nonetheless.”

There’s a second where Gavin just registers and processes that—basically, Connor’s tired. Which is fine. Except that he was perfectly awake all week with Anderson, which means he’s not being a good partner for Gavin because _Anderson used up all his battery._

Gavin’s never been so furious. Except that one time where he saw Connor stroke Anderson’s beard and stare at Anderson with a perfect simulation of fondness even though Anderson’s an old crabby clown that no one should love, much less a gorgeous supermodel—

Toaster. Just a toaster. Gavin breathes through his nose and firmly reminds himself that he doesn’t give a damn what Connor thinks because seriously, _fuck Connor._

Except he can’t fuck Connor. Because Connor used up all his energy getting railed by Anderson, apparently. Gavin hates himself for thinking that. He shudders at the imagery and tries to formulate the most scathing, offensive, horrible insult he can for Connor’s delicate ears. 

Connor’s chair rolls back and he drops right to the floor like a sack of sexy bricks. Everybody in the office turns to look at Gavin’s desk-mate, and Gavin himself shoots up to peer over their conjoined table. Connor, face down on the tile, makes a noise like a snore. His LED flickers red. It’s even more pathetic than Gavin’s brand new phone after only an hour of use, frantically flashing and crying for the cord. Gavin half-wishes he had a human-sized cord he could shove up Connor’s ass with a vengeance. 

He’s got nothing but his own two hands and the various charge ports around the office, some occupied by parked androids and others empty. None of the powered-down androids boot up to offer him help, and his human counterparts don’t either.

Steaming, Gavin walks over to hike Connor up by the armpits and drag him over to charge, figuring that if this doesn’t earn him a special Connor-coffee in a few hours, then there really is no god.


End file.
